


The Ultimate Act: A Triptych

by ButterflyRogue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Feels, Background Relationships, Character Study, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Friendship/Love, Implied Sexual Content, POV Alternating, Sexual Tension, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2019-10-07 12:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17365631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyRogue/pseuds/ButterflyRogue
Summary: The ultimate act of love is making sacrifices for the happiness or wellbeing of another, even if they may not realise it.In theory, at least.part 01 - temptation: chapters 1-3part 02 - penance: chapters 4-5Note: Chapters 1-5 rewritten; minor updates for a nicer flow - no content change. Final installment to follow shortly.





	1. temptation 1-01

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **part 01 – temptation**  
>  Monday, Jan 3rd 1996  
>  _Monday is the day of the Moon, a day for stepping into our true potential, intuition and emotions._

“Ice-skating!?" Nymphadora Tonks gaped over the newest issue of the Daily Prophet, before her expressive dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. "This better not be a set up for another prank, because I won't go easy on you this time."

  
In the basement kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld place, Remus Lupin chuckled and drew out a chair to sit next to her.

  
“If you consider having one's own clothes singing ABBA's greatest hits at inopportune moments as _easy_ , I'm honestly terrified of what else is brewing in that mind of yours."

  
His expression was relaxed, as if he had planned such a reaction, staged it as an opening to chat about mischief both of them so excitedly participated in lately. Her response was, after all, one he should have anticipated. Like anyone would take a casual invite to go ice-skating with a lonely, aging werewolf seriously. He tried not to feel the pang of it too acutely. Diverting into easy joking was safe territory. He could start over from there.

  
"C'mon, it wasn't that bad," she laid her paper down on the table top and turned in her chair to face him with a smirk.

He caught her so completely off guard when he walked in with his burning gaze and that outrageous proposition, he may have as well fired a stunner straight at her chest. She struggled to collect herself. Joking her way out of emotionally confusing situations was her forte, she could handle it from here.

"You were adorable, like a musical greeting card. Everyone thought it was great fun."

  
"Of course they did, especially when we thought it was finally over and then it started crooning _Chiquitita_ during Alastor's retelling on how he lost his leg."

  
She laughed, loudly and heartily, her head thrown back in mirth, and his pulse quickened. Evoking the memory of that evening, he could almost see the challenging glint in her eye as she innocently supplied (misleading) suggestions, as to what useful little spell might just do the trick and undo the jinx. He had known, of course, that she was behind it as soon as it started. Not only that she knew of the profound hatred he had of this particular muggle band (Sirius had nearly wet himself with laughter as his outfit for the day suddenly broke into _Waterloo_ just as Arthur got up to pour another round of brandy for the few people that had lingered after the meeting), but she was, strictly speaking, getting him back for a number he'd pulled on her a few weeks before. Which he did in response to her substituting his supply of chocolate with boxes of raisins. And honestly, he couldn't remember anymore what he had done to deserve that or when did this prank war between them even start, but he couldn't deny that the Marauder in him thoroughly appreciated every second of it.

  
"Should've tried taking them off," sat across from them, his elbows resting on the table, Sirius Black was listening in unabashedly, his grey eyes flitting between the pair. He looked perfectly at ease, as if this was what he usually did with his afternoons. "Bet that would've done the trick, eh Tonksy?"

  
Tonks tensed, embarrassed simultaneously by Sirius' jibe and at having forgotten his presence in the room in the first place.

  
"I must admit I prefer a more intellectual approach to problem solving," she braved a glare at him, trying to project confidence she didn't feel. Mercifully, Sirius didn't continue the same line of thought, but he did smirk in a way that rattled her, as if he could see exactly what's been going through her mind. "At least everyone got to enjoy the disco classics while you figured it out, that lock you set for my lunchbox wailed like a banshee the second I tried to open it without solving the puzzle first," she tried to continue levelly, desperate to paddle back into familiar waters, "The Auror Headquarters probably has a warrant on the mysterious perpetrator, you know, you had most of the office screaming bloody murder. Kingsley nearly blasted my entire lunch to smithereens."

  
Remus smiled and some of the tension eased off. She'd be mortified if he realised her flush was not due to her cousin's tactless remarks as much as a burning, hidden desire for Remus to do just what Sirius suggested. Minus the additional audience, of course. That would definitely cement her as an immature, frivolous _girl_ in his eyes. Not that playing pranks was a much better way of making him see her the way she wanted him to see her, she thought wryly.

  
"You should've known better than to stand between a girl and her lunch," she continued with such conviction, forcefully morphing her blush away, as if her relationship to whatever she had had to eat that day was the only thing that mattered in her life.

  
Though angry at himself for being so distracted by her delightful presence not to control his words and tone more carefully when in company (as if anyone needed an image of him stripping naked in front of them; the mere thought had him burn with shame), Remus, like a complete idiot, stumbled into the same trap the second her eyes met his again.

  
"Obviously I had no idea what I was getting myself into," he blurted through a grin that was too powerful to rein in and Tonks blossomed with happiness.

  
"Obviously you still don't," Sirius quirked an amused eyebrow, and pulled Tonks' abandoned Prophet towards him, making a show of spreading the paper in front of him and settling back into his seat.

  
Though he appeared unperturbed and managed a seemingly annoyed eye roll in Sirius' direction, Remus' eyes didn't meet Tonks' again as he cleared his throat and continued.

  
"Basically, the children are going back to Hogwarts in a few days and I've agreed to take Ginny and Hermione ice-skating while they are still on their break."

  
Tonks' gaze dropped. She should have guessed this was somehow connected to the Order. She was being foolish in letting her mind wander, feeding into her hope for something more. Luckily, this time Sirius saved her from having to react before managing to hide her disappointment.

  
“And you want her to go? Knowing Tonks, she probably already holds the world record in ice- _falling_.”

  
“I beg your pardon, the proper term would be _arse_ -skating,” Tonks shot him a mock-indignant glare and he rewarded her with a bark of laughter before she dared to face Remus again. “He’s right, though. I manage to trip over thin air on dry land. Imagine what disaster I’d be on slippery territory.”

  
There were at least a hundred normal things he could have said. This was Tonks, for Merlin's sake, a simple promise of fun would have probably swayed her. Instead, he let his stupid mouth run unsupervised.

  
“Well, since we partnered successfully on so many missions, I guess I was hoping you'd be willing to have my back on this one as well, however slippery."

  
He cringed as soon as the words rolled off his tongue and Tonks' eyes widened. He caught Sirius' eye - he was looking on with rapt attention, both eyebrows up, and the smirk that stretched across his gaunt face suggested he will never let him hear the end of it. For all the easy camaraderie he'd established with Tonks from the earliest moments of their acquaintance and despite having by now shared with each other much more personal experiences (Sirius' embarrassing taunts included), this time he could distinctly feel the warm flush of mortification creeping up his neck. He was way past denying to himself that what he felt for her went far beyond just friendship, but while he indulged in their playful antics with delighted exuberance, he usually maintained at least some dignity, even while his socks and jumper sang a duet about a bloke named Fernando. What a pathetic old fool he must seem now, so greedily grabbing for every second of her time and attention. Had she finally realised how seriously lost he was in her? Was there any way to salvage this before she became utterly creeped out?

  
But in an instant, Tonks' confusion melted away and she beamed, so bright and warm, a ray of light shining through this dismal house, and his mind went blank.

  
"Remus, I'm genuinely honoured you'd trust me to have your back even while I'm pirouetting across the ice rink on my bum," her luminous eyes danced as she pressed one hand to her chest and briefly touched his forearm with the other. Even under a layer of clothing, his skin blazed, as if sunburnt. "Though I'm worried I'd more likely drag you down that slippery road with me."

  
"Where's the fun in ice-skating if you don't get to fall every once in a while,” he rasped, unable to resist, even though falling was not an appropriate metaphor anymore, not by a long shot. It felt more like being swept away by an avalanche.

  
Suddenly self-conscious, he propped his elbows on his knees, trying to appear nonchalant, but the shy duck of his head betrayed his true nature. He looked like a teenager, his expression so adorably boyish as he peeked expectantly at her from under floppy fringe. Accustomed to seeing him immaculately poised, clean shaven and neatly combed, this slight dishevel in his appearance spread tingling warmth across Tonks' cheeks as she felt her fingers suddenly itch to run through his hair and down his neck to sneak under the collar of his shirt where those top two buttons were tantalisingly left unbuttoned. Emboldened by the implications of his last statement, she struggled not to show too much enthusiasm (that would be reading into it too much, it was bloody ice-skating not a marriage proposal), but at the same time, if she played it _too_ casually, it might ruin any chance of him making any kind of a move. If a move is something he was going for? _Bloody hell_ , men were not usually that difficult to read! Why was she so absolutely clueless when it came to him!?

  
“How is it that you manage to talk me into anything you want?” she breathed, aiming for coy, but her voice coming out a bit sultrier than she'd intended. Was it just her imagination, or was he leaning a bit closer to her than before?

  
“Oooh, can I make a guess?!” Sirius piped from somewhere behind her.

  
This time, they both jumped at the interruption, neither noticing he had left his place at the table. His expression was smug as he rifled through the cupboards Molly Weasley had stocked with leftovers of the New Year’s dinner. Remus straightened in his chair and ran both hands through his hair, while Tonks rose from hers abruptly, cheeks matching the vivid pink of her jaunty coif.

However, she somehow managed to tangle her feet with the chair legs and tripped forwards, barely balancing herself by grabbing at Remus' shoulders, his hands instinctively reaching for her waist. Sirius howled with laughter, nearly dropping the chunk of roasted pork loin he'd dug out.

  
Tonks looked as flustered as Remus felt. He quickly removed his hands from her as soon as she steadied, then rose and stuffed them in his trouser pockets.

  
“I hope you have a good pair of gloves, it's a bit nippy outside.”

  
There was a muffled thump as Sirius banged his forehead against the side of the cupboard with an exaggerated sigh.

  
“Oh, right," discomposed by the shift in his conduct, she glanced at him bashfully from under long, dark lashes and valiantly added. "I hope you'll at least try to keep me from falling too often.”

  
With a furtive glance towards Sirius, still hidden behind the cupboard, Remus chanced a smile. His hands burned from where he briefly held her. She was standing too close to him for such a casual conversation. He was surprised no one could hear how loudly everything inside of him thrummed. Everything about her was in such sharp focus, so bright and colourful, and everything else was complete darkness.

  
“I solemnly swear.”

  
Something sparked in her eyes at that and he gripped the back of a chair to physically restrain himself from touching her, from impulsively leaning to kiss those very soft looking lips curved in the loveliest little smile. Could anyone's gaze hold such power over someone? Then she moved gently past him to ready herself for the outside and the lights faded back to grey.

  
"Merlin knows I'm rooting for you, Moony," Sirius grunted as soon as her footfalls faded from earshot. "But this _must_ be the most excruciating bloody courtship in the history of mankind. And I was at the frontlines of Prongs' seven-year-long pursuit of Evans."

  
"Bugger off, Padfoot," Remus grumbled reflexively, then added more softly: "I don't even know where you get these ideas from."

  
Too late, Sirius was already grinning madly, the cavernous hollows of his haggard face lit with the ghost of handsomeness of his youth. A part of Remus was pleased that his old friend was in a good mood, since it was getting increasingly sour the nearer Harry's return to Hogwarts drew, but he was none the less nettled that it had to be over something he wished to keep as private as possible.

  
"Tonksy is a rare bird. Looks _and_ brains. Great fun to have around. A sort of character that could handle even your melodramatics," continued Sirius, undeterred, as if Remus hadn't even spoken. "But you're going to have to step up at some point. She's not going to put up with you being all wishy-washy forever."

  
Remus bristled and pushed past him to look for a thermos, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge him.

  
"Ignore me all you want, I know you know what I'm talking about," Sirius slumped in the chair Tonks vacated and spread his armful of food on the table top, then frowned suddenly. "You _do_ realise she's interested as well, don't you?"

  
"Nobody is interested in anybody," Remus hissed, tapping the kettle with his wand sharply until it let out a piercing whistle, spraying boiling water and coughing up steam. "Especially not her in me. That's probably the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

  
"Well, if you hadn't noticed, you're more dense than I thought."

  
Remus gritted his teeth, determined not to raise to the bait, and dunked the teabags impatiently into the thermos, willing the tea to steep faster. He was in enough turmoil from the moment he worked up the nerve for this (by the looks of it, completely disastrous) invitation. He really didn't need his oldest friend goading him on. His past experience with Sirius should have taught him by now that this usually ended up with him doing something completely imprudent, against his own better judgement.

  
"You know what, I just remembered I won a bet I had with Prongs, a long, long time ago," continued Sirius, his tone still light, but suddenly wistful. Remus glanced carefully at him over his shoulder. "He thought you'd eventually settle with a quiet, mousy bird. You know, one of those librarian types, terribly sweet, but probably a bit of a bore. _I_ , on the other hand, always had a feeling you'd appreciate a woman with a bit more substance."

  
"I can't believe you're using James to blackmail me into buying into your nonsense," Remus clipped back, but without much conviction.

  
"I'm trying to help you, mate," retorted Sirius, less humour in his eyes and voice. "One day you'll see for yourself I was right, but then it may be too late."

  
Sloshing hot tea from the hastily closed thermos, Remus exited without another word.

  
"You'll see," Sirius shook his head muttering into the now empty kitchen and bit into the roast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going through some of my very old writings, and running low on my stock of live Remadora fiction, I decided to write a seasonal piece of my own. This was roughly a month ago, I had a good idea on what I wanted to do and enough time to do it. I didn't, naturally, because I'm rubbish with deadlines.  
> The story spun a bit out of proportion, though, and the "season" bit is more "wintery" than "Christmasy" so it still fits. Apologies for the odd clumsy shift in POV, I was in an experimental mood. I love these characters and even though I haven't written anything in this fandom since 2013 (or written anything at all, for that matter), they are still as real to me as they were when I first fell in love with them. I really enjoyed writing this and hope you enjoy reading it!


	2. temptation 1-02

The day was crisp and sunny, and their breath plumed in front of them as the group made their way towards the small ice rink set up next to a muggle playground around the corner from Grimmauld square. Tonks was immediately engaged by Ginny, who, with an apologetic glance backwards, left a slightly disgruntled looking Hermione with Fleur. Remus smiled as he watched Ron (deciding at the last minute to tag along when Fleur voiced her inclination for joining them) trudge forward to join their conversation, admiring how seamlessly Tonks switched from the grim reality of her profession and work for the Order to spurring cheerful discussions about Quidditch, school and other general topics teenagers took interest in. He kept his eyes on her, discreetly, Sirius' parting words niggling at him, even as he fell into step with Bill who engaged him in small talk about the current political climate among the minorities in the wizarding world.

  
 _Ah, there it goes_ , he thought wryly, as conversation inevitably steered towards the anti-werewolf legislation. Bill was good-natured and friendly, but could not fully comprehend the extent of what Remus was going through. He did not fit the image people usually had of werewolves as savage vagrants and was therefore easily mistaken for someone normal. Bill even admitted he himself shared the popular belief that all werewolves were feral and vicious before meeting Remus and expressed a hope that others may have a change of opinion once his efforts in this war become known.

  
Except Bill was raised by Molly and Arthur Weasley, the rest of the world will not have been as fortunate. Remus nodded with an appreciative smile none the less, eyes drifting towards Tonks again. They were at the rink already and she was starting to covertly transfigure blades onto their boots. She caught his eye and smiled. He smiled back before furtively assessing their small party as well as the other people in the park. No one spared them a second glance.

  
Would it be the same if they were not in a muggle park surrounded by Order members and their children? Would she even dare look at him in a different setting?

  
 _She would_. Of that he was certain. But at what cost to her own reputation? She had no place even knowing him, much less entertaining his foolish romantic notions that could never come to fruition, no matter how hot the blaze of hope Sirius had lit inside of him with his implications burned.

  
Not ten minutes later the air was full of shrieks of laughter as the teenagers took to the ice, Bill and Fleur following hand-in-hand. The pair of them were as if plucked directly from a Valentine's day edition of Witch Weekly; Fleur looked even more graceful than usual, her platinum hair flowing majestically behind her, Bill skating deftly around her, their faces mirroring each other's in smiles and rosy cheeks, young and beautiful in the bright winter sun.

  
Squinting against the light, Remus saw, for a split second, an entirely different image. Fleur's hair shortened and swished around her cheeks, wavy and bright pink. Bill's features suddenly resembled his own as Nymphadora's dark eyes gazed at him with adoration and love. He blinked away the image, his face warm. These foolish daydreams were nothing out of the ordinary. He spent many a sleepless night engaging in wishful fantasies, his mind imagining a reality of a whole, undamaged man, free to walk up to the woman he coveted and make his feelings and desires openly known. But lately, these thoughts came unbidden, at most inopportune of moments, giving him far too little time or privacy to regain composure.

  
"I guess it's now or never," muttered Tonks to his right and he flinched in a moment of panic that she would see right through him, straight into his entirely improper thoughts. She was leaning heavily on the handrail mounted around the frozen surface, her legs wobbling as she tried to keep her balance on the blades fixed to her feet. Her expression, however, as she looked up at him, was radiant, not unlike the one she wore in the fantasy still fresh in his mind. Buoyed, Remus smiled, suddenly not as self-conscious about his spur of the moment resolution to take her ice-skating. It was a perfectly innocent past time, they were in a muggle environment on semi-official business and the entire Order knew they were good friends who sometimes hung out together in their free time. There was nothing to suggest any overstepping of boundaries from his end, no matter what Sirius may say.

  
He stepped carefully on the ice, moving in front of her and extending a hand to help her along. She accepted it with a grateful smile and tumbled awkwardly forwards, her other hand grabbing at his forearm as she lost complete control over her feet. They battled for equilibrium for a few moments - her completely helpless, him tilting forwards and backwards in an effort to regain balance - before erupting into laughter, eyes locked on one another, her excited giggles mingling with his, deeper and richer, chuckle. It was nothing at all like the picture-perfect semblance of Bill and Fleur. It was so much better.

  
"Merlin, you'll never take me anywhere with you after this, that's for sure," she breathed, still giddy with mirth, face aglow with that beautiful smile, and he couldn't have taken his eyes off her if he wanted to.

  
"Quite the contrary," he blurted without thinking again, then struggled to recover himself. "I'd no idea incapacitating an Auror was such an easy job. Does wonders for my ego."

  
She released one of his arms to swat at him playfully, mouth open in mock-offence, then clutched at him even tighter immediately after as she wobbled unsteadily. "I ought to sacrifice my own bum just to have you fall on yours, you smug git."

  
He grinned in that adorable, boyish way as he gently tugged at her arms in response and started ambling them carefully across the ice, patiently instructing her how to move her feet and coaxing her to relax. Remus was sure they looked a right spectacle, gripping at each other and bending at awkward angles to avoid falling, but for the moment, he couldn't really find it in himself to care.

  
"I can't believe you've never been ice-skating before, such a bold, formidable woman as yourself."

  
"I may be impulsive sometimes, Remus, but I'm not suicidal."

  
"Yet, you are ice-skating now," he teased. Tonks glared at him.

  
"Look at you, all pleased with himself. Makes me wonder if my absolute trust in you may be misguided after all."

  
Though he chuckled again, a cloudiness had crept into his gaze at her words and something gnawed at the pit of her stomach, wondering if she had said the wrong thing, making him fall out of sync with her again, even though she meant it in the highest regard. She knew she was treading too close to uncharted territory, implying her willingness to give him more than just her friendship. This entire endeavour attested to that. Not for the first time, she thought with dread that she had misinterpreted him. That the warm undertones of his voice when he teased her or the glint in his eyes when their gazes locked were not a sign of his interest or affection, but, in fact, a product of her wishful imagination, and that all those tender moments between them were simply in line with his kind and caring nature. It was her worst fear nowadays, the possibility of inadvertently revealing her burgeoning feelings and him gently turning her away, like an imprudent little girl he probably thought she was, and disappearing from her life forever. Even in her nightmares, the heartbreak of rejection hurt less than the destruction of their friendship.

No, she had to stick to that friendship first and foremost. He didn't have to know just how much of herself she poured into it.

 

They managed to meander across the ice rink with some staggering and a fair amount of flailing, but without any serious incidents. Just as Remus was about to finally break the silence he himself had inflicted with his unconscious mood shift, stunned at how her words had hit so close to both his hopes and reservations, a group of children racing with each other skated a bit too close to them. Tonks panicked as they threw her off her precarious balance and would have toppled them both, had Remus not threw himself backwards towards the edge of the rink to avoid collision, pulling Tonks into his arms to shield her from the impact and suppressing a groan as the railing dug into his back. She grabbed at his sides as he kept one arm firmly around her and reached backwards with the other to the handrail for support. She looked up, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, and he suddenly became very conscious of how close she was, just tall enough so that with only a slight duck of his head, her upturned face would be within reach of his lips.

 

"Perhaps it's time to take a little break," he managed, but it seemed as if she drew closer to him instead of breaking apart. Or was it him who held her tighter, tucked against his body so intimately.

 

"Yeah," she smiled sheepishly. "Before I manage to kill us both."

 

Slowly, almost reluctantly, they disentangled from each other and, using the handrail for support, made their way towards the nearest exit. After carefully transfiguring their shoes back to their normal state and glancing around to check on the others, they cleared one of the snow-covered benches and shared the tea Remus had so hastily made earlier.

 

"Sorry, I didn't remember to grab any biscuits," offered Remus, as he watched her peel off her gloves and warm her hands on the small tin cup. She smiled and it warmed him deeper than any hot beverage ever could.

 

"I wouldn't have even thought to bring tea, so no complaints here." She set her cup on the bench and stood to stretch her arms high above her head.

 

"I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but I finally feel stable on my own two feet," she grinned at him over her shoulder and he was momentarily dumbstruck at how pretty she was in the fading daylight, silhouetted by the dying sun. His eyes fell from hers, however, and he flushed as his thoughts took a different direction, one that made increasingly frequent appearances in his nightly fantasies as well. Hard as he tried, he could not stop his mind from appreciating the shape of her long legs, the curve of her backside in those tights that left very little to imagination, the hints of the figure under the puffy jacket and the oversized jumper with its colourful zigzag pattern as they rode up, revealing a slim waist and the taut plane of her abdomen. _Wondering if it would feel smooth and supple under his hands, whether her skin smelled as sweetly as he imagined, if it would be velvety soft as his lips covered every inch of it_...

 

He shifted on the bench, tightened his jaw in an exercise in control, sipped his tea too quickly and resisted a grimace as it burned his tongue. They fell into a companionable silence, that despite all of the things left unsaid between them didn't feel awkward. Tonks was gazing pensively at the snow-covered trees where the decorative fairy lights started to twinkle to life. Remus saw nothing but her, dazzling against the glittering white backdrop, gorged himself on the sight of her, making up for all those times he willed himself not to look, for fear of anyone noticing. Evening drew closer but the park still buzzed with activity. It wasn't long before Tonks rejoined Remus on the bench, scooting the tiniest bit closer as she chafed her hands together in the dropping temperature. On a bold impulse, he reached around her and rubbed at her arms to help her stave off the cold, and she leaned slightly into him without thinking. Their eyes met for a split second, then she stiffened and dropped her gaze, wrapping her arms tightly around herself in a defensive gesture. He flinched from her as if burned and looked away, afraid of what she may have seen in him.


	3. temptation 1-03

As the sun rapidly began to set, their small party reassembled and slowly started to go back. Remus and Tonks did not talk again until reaching the front step of Number 12, where Tonks cheerfully bid them all goodbye ( _was it just his imagination or did she keep glancing at him?_ ) and apparated away. Remus struggled not to appear suddenly surly at her departure, but took the opportunity to slip away unnoticed as the children went to join Harry and Sirius in the study and Bill and Fleur lingered in the doorway, helping each other from their winter garb ( _because taking one's scarf off is, apparently, a two-person job_ , he thought cynically, _at the same time longing to have been able to slip his hands under the furry collar of Nymphadora’s jacket, to run his fingers over the fine shape of her neck, trace its peaks and dimples, making it prickle with goose flesh under his touch_ ).

 

He fixed himself a cup of tea and quickly made to retire upstairs to his bedroom, before he could attract Sirius and his unnerving comments. After an afternoon spent basking in the warmth of Tonks' smiles, he was sure only one of those sly remarks, if worded well enough, could propel him into flooing directly to her flat and kissing her senseless. With disastrous consequences, that was for sure. No, he needed a nice, soothing cup of tea and some gloomy literature about Dark Creatures that would put him right back to his place and chase away these foolish thoughts of _Nymphadora's lips opening under his, Nymphadora's hands running up his chest, brushing against his neck, pulling him closer as her lithe body arched upwards into his... as his hands reached under the hem of that ridiculous jumper, shuddering at the feel of her skin... skin warm and flushed in the firelight..._

 

His foot caught at the second to last step before the landing and he just barely salvaged his tea, one of his arms shooting forwards to balance himself on the floor that was suddenly in front of his face. Abashed at his uncharacteristic clumsiness, he maintained this awkward angle for a moment and carefully surveyed the silent corridors for Sirius' mocking shadow, before hurrying to his bedroom.

 

However, only a few minutes after settling in with a book, he stood up again, too wired to concentrate on reading, unable to quiet that nagging thought that repeated (in a voice that sounded unnervingly like Sirius) that his attraction to her was not one-sided. Analysing the day they had spent together and, in fact, many of their interactions over the past few months, he had to admit there was indication to sustain that notion. He may be relatively inept at flirtation, but he was not blind. Surely, it couldn't all be his wishful thinking: the delicate blush on her cheeks as she clung to him a bit too tightly on the ice, the coyness of her tone as she countered his teasing, the accidental brushes of limbs that had her hiding her eyes even though they had bumped shoulders and held hands and grabbed each other for support numerous times during the months of their acquaintance and professional partnership. Although, he may have been preoccupied with other thoughts to count as the most reliable observer, namely the way the wind ruffled her hair and made a silky pink cloud around her face that his fingers itched to tousle even further. Or how he had come so close to pressing his lips to the tip of her nose, so adorably red in the winter chill, just to see if he can make her face flush the same shade at his audacity. Or wondering if kissing her full on the mouth would have warmed them better than that old thermos of hot tea.

 

Her lingering gaze just now at the doorstep, a second before she dissaparated, brought back her expression from when he briefly held her on that bench. It was not disgust that made her withdraw, that was his own insecurity projected at her. He recognized now that what he saw in her eyes was vulnerability, and, he shuddered with a feeling he couldn't quite describe, an invitation. It was his own fear that made him withdraw to the comfort of self-deprivation. With her image vivid behind his eyelids, bright-eyed and so becomingly flushed as his arms enveloped her, he picked up a quill, set his mug on the desktop, and bent to scribble on a piece of parchment.

 

 _Nymphadora_ , his lips quirked upwards as he purposefully opened with the name she somehow always let him get away with. _Today has left me curious as to what other talents you may be hiding, in addition to ice-skating. Would you do me the honour of joining me for a drink after our next surveillance job, so that I may get a better insight as to which activity to pick next?_

_Cordially,_   
_Remus_

 

Now, was there an owl in the house he could borrow without rousing too much suspicion? That tiny bird Ron owned was small enough to come and go unnoticed, and would probably be thrilled for a bit of exercise. Folding the note, he made to go look for it, but stopped with his hand on the doorknob. He was pretty sure by now that the note would be answered in the affirmative, but was suddenly stunned with a realization that this notion filled him with dread instead of with pleasure.

 

Taking a deep breath, he leaned his forehead on the door frame and thought his intended action carefully through.

Nymphadora was clever, strong-minded, with an absolutely brilliant sense of humour and a sort of breathless charm that had people orbiting her like the planets circled the Sun. He was not surprised at how smitten he was by her, she had everything he never even knew he'd find so irresistibly attractive.

His hand twisted the door handle, but hesitated at throwing them open.

She must have so many better, more eligible men queuing for a moment of her attention every day. What exactly did _he_ have to recommend himself to her? Even if he put aside the obvious issue of his condition. The age difference wouldn't bother him as much in itself, if not for her having accomplished so much more in her barely five years out of Hogwarts than he did in the thirteen years of head start he had over her. He did not have, nor held any hopes of gaining, the necessary qualifications for a meaningful employment. He was inexperienced with regard to completely independent livelihood. No matter how much he yearned for it, he did not handle anything that was _normal_ or _conventional_ well, and as far as relationships went, none of his past brief entanglements deserved to be brought up in that context. He was dirt poor and not in that charming, bohemian way that could make him alluring. He was not a distinguished gentleman a younger woman may desire for his worldliness, quite the contrary. She was more skilled than him in pretty much everything, aside perhaps handling the strain of warfare and losing loved ones.

 _That's not your fault_ , she would probably say if he ever voiced any of this. _You were never given a chance. I'm sure you could've accomplished so much._ And he would have fallen in love that much deeper into her kind heart, her beautiful soul no physical feature could ever overshadow, no matter how alluring.

Yes, she seemed to find him interesting enough to exhibit some form of fondness, perhaps even romantic attachment. But it's most likely one of those things that happen to people who spend a lot of time in each other's company. With her job and her Order duties, Sirius and himself were the only company she still kept in her free time, it was logical that she may project some of her more subconscious desires to the single men in her vicinity. But as soon as her life fell back into some semblance of normalcy, she would realise it was not what she really wanted, and it would just ruin the lovely friendship they have managed to build. No, that friendship is what he should hold on to and friendship is all he should offer to her (she doesn't have to know that he will pour all of himself into that friendship none the less).

 

_Can sacrificing your own wishes for the benefit of another be the ultimate act of love?_

 

He skimmed through the note again. A drink is something they could still have as friends, isn't it? If he makes sure not to cross any lines, he could still enjoy her company until that inevitable moment she snaps out of whatever it is that draws her to him. He can quench his desires if it means he will lose her later rather than sooner.

 

"Don't be pathetic," he scoffed to himself and strode back to the desk, tossing the note into his mug. The dregs of cold tea soaked into the thick parchment, blotting the words. He pointed his wand at it and the note burst into a neat little flame, crumbling into itself. He stared at it for a moment and then, with another flick, vanished the lot.

 

* * *

  
In a cosy little flat in South London, Tonks sat curled on her sofa, boots and jacket discarded haphazardly by the front door, staring unseeing at the open book in her lap.

 

So she was right about him, she had not misinterpreted anything. All those times his eyes lingered on her when he thought she wasn’t looking, the way he sought out her company, went out of his way to take missions with her and engage her in other, only vaguely Order-related, activities so that they can spend time together - it was all there in his eyes, in that split second they had met hers as they huddled on the bench. It was "the move" she was waiting for, wasn't it?

 

_Why then, had she hesitated?_

 

Was is lingering uncertainty, did she fear being so senselessly smitten to actually imagine things that were not there?

 

No. She was not that much of a romantic. Not that innocent either. She recognized the hunger in the way he looked at her and the warmth deep inside her core reacted with the same fervour.

 

Perhaps, it was the possible repercussions of getting involved with a werewolf, and a publicly outed one none the less. Not for the first time, she mulled over the consequences of that. Friendship was one thing, and even that was frowned upon. A relationship - romantic relationship - signified a stronger bond. Emotional involvement. An association that wasn't as easily broken. If she were to start one with him, it would be something that could never be undone, even if the relationship in itself didn't work. In the public eye, she would be forever branded as the woman who dared to go against everything to love a werewolf.

 

More importantly, Remus is not the kind of man you could just have a go with and see where it went. His entire adult life was branded with loneliness and exclusion. He didn't know how to accept affection, and he needed someone to believe in him, take pride in him and, most of all, be careful and patient with him. He is a man with whom you enter a relationship deliberately, consciously, and are in for the long run and prepared for all the hard work that needs to be invested in it. He is a man whose idea of intimacy goes beyond the merely physical and Tonks smiled, suddenly giddy, as that warm, incessant fluttering in the pit of her stomach intensified at the mere thought of any form of intimacy with him.

 

It was more than just attraction. It was a yearning, a sort of need she had never felt with anyone else, and something deep inside of her doubted she would ever feel it with another. For all her outward brazen confidence, Tonks was careful with her heart, hardened by slights of those who were intimidated by her career aspirations and uncomfortable experiences with expectations most of them had of a methamorphmagus in the bedroom. But she couldn't imagine Remus being like that. She _trusted_ him not to be one of such men. She thought about his quiet intelligence and the extensive knowledge he shared so freely and generously. She thought about the calm dignity he displayed in the face of injustice exercised by people so far below him in capability or value of character. She admired his strength in refusing to take the easy way out, his firm persistence in being the man who does not conform to cruel prejudice and who fights discrimination with kindness. With that flutter in her stomach threatening to burst out in a giggle, she thought of the twinkle of humour in his eyes and that boyish, mischievous part of him that none of the horrible misfortunes he endured managed to quell.

 

Frowning suddenly, Tonks bristled at the unfairness of it all. She was not as naive to think that winning a war and reshaping the Ministry would do much to change how people viewed werewolves, there was still too much fear, too much ignorance for that. Such changes took time, they took more than the course of one's lifetime. Remus had told her once of the kind of life his parents had, just because they stood by their own child after he was bitten. He spoke openly about the whisperings, the ostracism, neighbors pulling their children from the streets and shutting themselves behind bolted doors, of his parents struggling to make ends meet and moving villages every few months. How he was too young to understand at the time, but how he grew to admire their courage and steadfastness where many others would have long given up. She had taken his hand at the time, on a bold impulse, laced her fingers through his and told him she wished there were more people like his parents in the world, because if there were, perhaps the world would finally see it was the society that was turning werewolves into beasts, that monsters are made, not born or bitten into existence. He didn't speak for a long time after that, but he had squeezed her hand tightly and ran his thumb along her knuckles. And he looked at her for a long moment, with something akin to wonder glazing his eyes. Heart hammering wildly, Tonks thought how she had never witnessed such warmth or intensity in anyone's gaze before meeting his. She thought about his hands - he had lovely, large, masculine hands, with long, tapered fingers - and shivered at the memory of his touch, so careful and gentle. Tingling all over, Tonks suddenly realised it was as far as back then that she decided he was worth any hardship their association may bring her way.

 

A smile lifted the corners of her lips, and she snuggled deeper into the cushions, bringing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. Longingly, she thought of the weight of his arms around her, quivering with anticipation of when she may experience it again. There was something rattling inside of him, behind all of those doors he'd bolted shut within himself, something deeply passionate and unrestrained, itching to get out; a side of him she glimpsed at times and ached to get to know on a more intimate level. She only needed one little crack, just one more opening, and she won't hold back any longer. She was not afraid. And one of these days, she was going to prove it to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **End of part 1.**
> 
> This entire story was initially meant to be a three-parter, however the first part ended up being quite long so I decided to post it as three chapters. If everything goes as planned, the second part will be two chapters long and the third part will be standalone so six chapters in total.  
> As always, I hope you enjoy!


	4. penance 2-01

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **part 02 – penance**  
>  Friday/Saturday, Dec 20th/21st 1996  
>  _Some say that if you dream something on Friday night and tell someone about your dream Saturday morning, it will come true._

It was close to midnight when Tonks appeared in a dark corner of a public garage, a block away from her flat, at her usual apparition spot. It was filthy and smelled strongly of stale urine, but the position provided both a good overview of her surroundings and sheltered her almost completely from street view. _Constant bloody vigilance_.

 

Her brief visit to her parents' on her afternoon off had extended into supper and before she knew it, the evening news report had come and gone and she was somehow manipulated into eating her third slice of carrot cake and listening to the weekly Quidditch report with Dad. Not that she minded spending time with them, however rare her visits have come to occur lately, but more often than not, she'd spend them anxiously dreading the barrage of questions she knew they inevitably had. Things had gotten far too complicated to simply brush them off as "work", she had grown so different from the daughter they knew a year ago, and she simply could not bear to look them in the eyes and say nothing was wrong, when _everything_ was wrong. There were no words to describe how horrifying it was to suddenly struggle with something she usually had such firm control over, how exhausting it suddenly was to maintain enough concentration to keep even the most mundane of changes, such as the colour of her hair. There were no words to describe the depths of her anguish at what this bloody war was doing to her, to them all. It felt as if the entire world was mocking her every decision, taking everything she loved and twisting it into something foreign and perverse, jeering that she wasn't good enough, wasn't strong enough, that she couldn't take it anymore, and that the stubborn little voice at the back of her mind shouting ' _You're wrong, I am, I can_ ' was screaming in vain because there was nothing, no one to acknowledge it.

  
Her parents worried enough over her career choices, they didn't have to know it was just the tip of the iceberg, that she could've coped with everything that's been going on with at least a fraction of her usual colour, but simply didn't have the energy ever since...

 _Ever since Remus decided committing suicide was a more acceptable option than acknowledging feelings existed between them, on both sides_.

Well, perhaps not suicide in the conventional sense, but Remus always had a flair for subtlety. He voluntarily resigned himself to everything he was afraid of, everything he had fought his entire life against, just because Dumbledore thought they should not be as exclusive with their recruiting as Voldemort was. Which would've made some sense if he was working on contacting isolated werewolves who didn't want to hurt anyone and could've been swayed to their cause. Infiltrating Greyback's pack was an obvious attempt at espionage and she was furious at both Remus and Dumbledore for downplaying it as something noble and innocuous when it was, ultimately, only working towards setting Greyback up for finishing the job he started when Remus was a child - whether by turning him completely or finally killing him. Either way, he was lost to her.

 

Slipping in the smattering of fresh snow in front of her building, she caught herself at a nearby lamp pole, then surveyed her surroundings a bit frantically for any sign of movement before slowing her pace. Breathing in deeply and counting to ten, she exhaled and watched as her warm breath swirled in front of her face before blending in with the London smog. Lately, she found it increasingly difficult to get rid of the aftereffects of dementor exposure, it was almost as if there was one constantly following her around, on the lookout for any gloomy thought it could latch on to and blow out of proportion, making her paranoid. She saw danger and death everywhere, even when it wasn't a part of her day job. Truth be told, she wasn't really giving herself much of a chance, with how she's been switching shifts with Savage and Proudfoot, pulling doubles and broadening the perimeter to get closer to the dementor breeding spots. Mad-Eye would have her head if he knew - it was reckless and irresponsible, even by his standards. A rookie mistake. Except she wasn't a rookie, she wasn't doing it for glory, and she was fully aware of the consequences if things turned ugly.

 

But, as much as she hated to admit it, she _needed_ it. Needed the work, the distraction; because when dementors swarmed her, she was more preoccupied with her own despair. Her terror at finding it difficult to morph, the fear of losing the only asset she was valued by. Reliving her own inadequacy that led to Sirius' death. Believing Remus was completely right not to love her. Even that was better than wondering where he was and what conditions he was in, hoping against hope that Dumbledore would have known if something was wrong and that he wasn't lying in a ditch somewhere, injured, bleeding, in pain, alone and convinced he was unimportant and disposable.

 

With the dementors, she had no choice but to think instead about him quirking that amused little smile at her, boyish and mischievous; him teasing her, making her the most perfect cup of tea while they discussed ridiculous nonsense, stealing glances and moments and the briefest of touches, the rich rumble of his laughter, the tender press of his hand in hers and that warm, tingling intensity from his eyes that flowed through her wand straight into the stately wolf patronus which brought her in equal measures comfort and pain.

 

Her small flat (she could hardly believe months have passed since she had left it vacant!) welcomed her with a musty scent and a heavy layer of dust. In the night, it looked even darker and felt even colder. The wireless on the kitchen top sprang to life enthusiastically as she flicked her wand towards it and dropped the packages crammed full of her mother's cooking at her small kitchenette. With Harry travelling to the Burrow for the holidays and Dumbledore himself overseeing his departure tomorrow, her presence in Hogsmeade was no longer mandatory. She could afford taking a few days off, dedicate them to cleaning this place properly, getting her life back on track, as much as possible anyway. The flat suddenly felt too much like Grimmauld place, and its scent, its dingy feel, bothered her now for exactly the same reasons it didn’t bother her at all the entire time she spent there last year. Sirius was dead and Remus was… well, as good as, the longer he continued with that ridiculous mission. Even if this war ever came to an end.

 

And so what if, at the end of the day, Remus didn't want her. It's not like her entire existence ended there. It's not like there weren't enough people who did care about her. She's definitely not the first brokenhearted idiot in the world. Merlin, had she become one of _those_ women? Those whiny, clingy girls who can't take no for an answer and are blind to common sense? That would've been the ultimate slap across the face of her self-respect.

 

_But she was so sure he loved her back._

 

Could she have really been so wrong?

 

She had just decided on going straight to bed when a knock on the door nearly made her jump out of her skin. Clutching her wand so tightly her fingernails left painful little crescent-shaped marks on her palm, she cursed the dementors again. She supposed this is how the convicts felt - edgy, ill-tempered, she hardly slept and when she did, it was fitful and laden with nightmares. She was losing her nerve. And considering that a certain part of her family was no stranger to mental instability, she really didn't need to test the fine lines that still separated her from plunging to insanity herself. Mad-Eye would be right to give her hell for this, she was such a stupid _girl_ sometimes.

 

The knock didn't sound again and, by the time she reached the door, she was absentmindedly wondering whether she had imagined it in the first place. In hindsight, she supposed the hesitation in the act was a giveaway ( _or hope; foolish, useless hope_ ) so it didn't shock her as much as it probably should have when the door opened to reveal Remus standing on the other side.

 

* * *

  
She seemed thinner than the last time he saw her.

Or was it her startling pallor in the semi-darkness of the flat, the streetlight seeping from the window caught in a play of sharp edges against shadowed planes across her lovely, familiar features. There seemed to be more make-up around her eyes than what she used to wear, doing a half-hearted job at masking the fatigue she would have normally morphed away without a second thought. Her hair was pulled back in a messy braid, brown and ordinary, and it made her finely structured face look sharper, pointier. If she had ever resembled a Black family member (and more often than not, Remus forgot she was related to them at all), it was at this moment. She didn't look surprised to see him, however. She looked... _relieved_.

 

Her eyes, however, turned unreadable as they swept over him, analysing. She pursed her lips tightly and then relaxed them in a gesture he's come to recognize as an expression of disapproval, and he struggled not to look away from the scrutiny of her gaze. There was the atrocious state of him, even though he did return to his cottage for a wash and a shave and a clean set of robes prior to his return to the civilization. The painful contours of his bones, visible where the clothes sagged off him in the unhealthy, undernourished and wasted state of his body. The grey tint to his skin, the dull overgrowth of his hair, every single pore of his body bore witness to the level of destitution he was living in. One he was not entirely a stranger to, even if the last couple of years did up his standards ever so slightly. It was so easy to get used to comfort, and he felt this fall back to the dregs of society that much harder.

 

Her movements were somewhat mechanical as she wordlessly stepped aside to let him in, shut the door, reached for his coat then extended her hand towards the front room when he gently refused to take it off. It was not unkind, though, even if she did twist her body away as she went past, to avoid touching him. Mentally, he was catching up, still stuck outside, debating with himself whether to come up or continue loitering in front of her building like some creepy stalker, angling for a glimpse of her as she returned home. He could not recall the physical journey he had crossed to get here, only the flash of her dark eyes as they met his, jolting him back to life. She seemed to understand as much and made his hesitation less uncomfortable as she stopped to lean against the small dining table where he awkwardly pulled out a chair to sit on. He had dreamed about her countless times, spoken epic monologues about the rights and the wrongs, the loves and the losses, yet at this moment, the right words eluded him. He could only look at her, drink up the image before him, the real, living and breathing _Her_ , who would not dissipate into thin air as soon as his hands reached out, like the one he chased in those dreams always did. She was the first to break eye contact, blinking in rapid succession and turning to stare at some point above his head.

 

"So you're alive, then," she acknowledged. "Good to know."

 

He nodded absently and cleared his throat.

 

"Sorry... I haven't communicated with anyone really... It's a bit tricky to get anything through from the underground," he tried to sound casual, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him. He couldn't remember when was the last time he spoke in a normal volume. It was either whispers and growls in the pack, or screams and howls when they indulged in their debauchery. Anything else was unacceptable. "I haven't heard much about you since summer..."

 

"You told me not to write, so I didn't."

 

Her eyes blazed as they met his again.

 

"You're right, of course," he muttered, scarlet spots of colour blooming on his ashen face. "What I meant, Dumbledore doesn't supply much information about the Order. And I would've liked to know you were alright." He looked briefly away before amending. "You and everyone else, I mean."

 

She pursed her lips again in that impatient gesture and, as her nostrils flared and she tightened her arms in their fold across her chest, he knew she was holding back hard on a remark.

 

"Drink?" she said instead and reached abruptly towards a cupboard behind her, without waiting for an answer. She pulled out a couple of dusty butterbeers and apologised half-heartedly for not having anything stronger to offer. He accepted the proffered bottle with gratitude, resisting the urge to grab her hand instead and pull her into his lap, hold her tightly against him and never let go, drinks and, in fact, the entire bloody world, be damned. Her fingernails were painted a bright, glittery red, similar to the colour on her lips, and he took a long swig of his butterbeer to switch his focus.

 

"How's work?" he managed between sips.

 

"Nothing like dementor duty to suck the joy out of the job," she snorted, a wry smile curving on her face. "Literally."

 

He smiled back, with sincere amusement, the expression almost foreign to him from lack of use, and just for a moment, it was resemblant to how they used to be, sipping their drinks and trying to outwit one another in a cold and dark kitchen across the town from here.

 

"Good job you have Honeydukes right under your nose."

 

"Right - perhaps if dementors sucked fat instead of souls," she chuckled, but his expression turned serious again as he appraised her. There was no play of light he could blame this on. Her collarbone jutted out too much above the hem of her blouse and the trousers that must have been designed to cling tightly to her legs sagged at her hips. It was too real to be passed as a morph, too much of a match with the dull droop of her hair, the absence of the twinkle in her eyes. Dementors, sure. Except she looked as if she did a stint in Azkaban herself, instead of chasing the foul things away. He made a mental note to talk to Moody first chance he got.

 

Noticing where his attention had gone, she squared her shoulders and let her arms drop, letting the loose clothing mask the sharp edges, jagged where she used to be smooth.

 

"Are you hungry? I'm just back from my parents and Mum's packed me enough food to last until next Christmas."

 

"No, no, thank you. I'm not."

 

And he wasn't even lying, he had grown accustomed to small, infrequent meals, learnt again how to silence the rumble in his belly with virtually nothing. She eyed him critically, but dropped the subject, for both their sakes.

 

"Have you written to Harry at all?"

 

"No. Like I said, I haven't been in contact with anyone."

 

"You should. I know letters are dangerous, but you could at least send a word through Dumbledore," she scolded. "You're all he has now after Sirius---"

 

"He has Molly and Arthur," Remus interrupted, trying to sound convinced even though he was suddenly choking with guilt.

 

"It's not the same," there was no malice in her words and Remus knew she didn't bring Harry up out of spite, but he was none the less ashamed to find how right she was. "You do realise you're as important to him as Sirius was."

 

There was no inflection at the end to mark it as a question. She was truly convinced of it. She was so determined that she wasn't the odd one out, that he was important to more than he knew, cared for by so many others. That he would be missed, mourned even, if he never returned from those dirty hovels he had to bury himself into. That _she_ would never waver in her conviction that he was worthy, that _she_ would stand by him with her head held high, holding his hand come hell or high water. And Remus wanted to believe in that more than anything.

 

"I'm just his 'professor Lupin'," he muttered humbly, but quickly continued when he saw her ready to counter him. "You're right, though, I should have made a bigger effort. I didn't just lose a friend, he lost a godfather, I should've provided him more support."

 

Her gaze dropped from his again, losing its heat.

 

"Maybe if auntie Bella finished her job with me, you would've both had---"

 

"Don't you dare," he cut her off, suddenly angry, something wild flashing through his expression. She winced, wide-eyed, her face ghastly in the dim light. "Don't ever say that again!"

 

Remus squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heels of his hands over them as if trying to block some terrible image. Collecting himself, he continued in a softer tone.

 

"He would've wanted you to live your life and be happy, not go around blaming yourself for things that could've never been your fault anyway."

 

"Look who's talking," she whispered hoarsely and his eyes snapped to hers again.

 

"Perhaps he would've said the same to me," he conceded softly. "Probably with far more profanities not suitable for a lady's ears."

 

She rolled her eyes at him, but there was a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It was solemn, but it was there, and he felt his own lips mimicking it in response.

 

"He would've liked to go the way he did, and would've never blamed anyone, least of all you," he swallowed thickly. "He cared about you a great deal, you know."

 

She reached as if to touch him, then clenched her fists and turned abruptly towards the kitchen again, blinking the tears away from her eyes.

 

"You should take some of this anyway," there was a trembling pitch to her voice, as she made to rummage through the food she brought. "Merlin, I've picked up a right Molly vibe, haven't I, but..."

 

He stood and grabbed her wrist to stop her. She flinched at his touch, swallowed the end of her sentence, but did a good job of keeping it from showing on her face.

 

She didn't pull from his grasp and he lingered, reveling in the feel of her skin under his fingers. Her tiny wrist was bonier than he remembered, but equally soft, with the same, powerful heartbeat beating against the pads of his fingers. In this dying, decaying world she was alive. Even in her sadness, burning so bright. _His Sun to orbit around_.

 

"Why did you shut me out?" she exclaimed, her voice suddenly strong, and he winced as it seemed to shatter the precarious balance they have established with their subdued exchange. "I thought we were friends at least." Her voice dropped again. "I would've settled for friends."

 

"And we are. Friends. Always," he assured her softly.

 

She took a step closer and hesitated for a beat before reaching both arms upwards and laying them very lightly around his shoulders. He returned the gesture almost reverently, shuddering at the feel of her solid weight under his palms, fighting the urge to close his eyes for fear of it being another dream. Her sharp little chin dug into the juncture just above his collarbone and her breath tickled his neck as she whispered.

 

"Don't think I'm not happy. I'm happy to see you. I'm happy you're alive."

 

Tentatively, he pressed his cheek against the side of her head, his lips only just touching the soft skin of her temple with a chaste kiss. He could feel the catch of her breath against his throat. Her hands moved from his shoulders to his neck, twining in the hair at his nape with gentle, trembling fingers. Cautiously, deliberately, as if approaching a wild animal, not knowing whether they will flee or strike. His skin prickled at her touch and his eyes fluttered closed. It was as if something inside of him snapped.

 

"The thing is... I don't know if I can settle for friends," he muttered distractedly into her hair, "I wish... I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," he dragged his apologies down her jawline before his lips found hers.

 

It was a light, soft press at first, their noses meshed together awkwardly and their breath mixed as it came in short gasps. He tried to collect his muddled thoughts. His hands shook as he brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheekbones, then pressed his palms at each side of her face, as if imprinting it to his memory. Her lips parted in a soft sigh and she shook her head ever so slightly, never breaking contact.

 

"I lied," she mouthed against his lips. "I can't settle either."

 

It was a tidal wave from there.

 

His confidence bolstered, his mouth moved boldly against hers and she followed his lead unreservedly, arching her spine upwards, offering him more and more of herself with each passing moment, each laboured breath taken between earnest lip strokes. All uncertainty was gone as the kisses grew longer, deeper, harder, pouring months and months of desperate longing into this moment, communicating the devastating ache to fuse together against everything that held them apart.

 

His fingers pressed into her cheeks and scalp almost hard enough to bruise. She matched him with equal fervour, knuckles white where she gripped the lapels of his overcoat, tugging and pressing and pulling as if she wanted to fold herself inside of him. He had fantasized about kissing her for so long, but nothing could have prepared him for this. Now that he touched her, claimed her lips with his own, tasted her, he didn't know how to stop anymore. He had never felt such intense craving for someone. His hands stroked her face, down her neck, over her shoulders and further, burying into the folds of her clothing to press her tighter against his body, then under the hem of her blouse, desperate to feel her skin beneath his fingers. Feverishly, he backed her against the kitchen top then swiftly hoisted her up on it and she gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders as her long legs wrapped tightly around his middle. The hunger, the overwhelming need he felt, terrified him. It was primal, too close to the beast he hid within. It was everything he strove to suppress for as long as he could remember and, at the same time, it was the most _human_ urge he has ever had, to lose himself so completely in another person. Her hands were pulling his coat from his shoulders, tugged his jumper out of his trousers, then she moaned impatiently as he tightened his arms around her in response instead of allowing her to rid him of any of it. She wanted him as well, with the same intensity. He could feel it in the insistence of her mouth on his, in the flexing of her thigh muscles as she rolled her hips against him, pressing herself closer, the gentle tug at his scalp as her fingers wound into his hair, in the staccato of her breathing and the way she yielded to his touch as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It was inconceivable that she - she who could have _anyone at all_ \- desired him, of all people. Desired him as profoundly as he did her.

 

Dragging blazing kisses over her cheeks, her jawline, down her neck, he lapped at the hollow of her throat feeling the frenzied thrum of her pulse against his lips, then buried his head in her shoulder and breathed her in like a suffocating man gasping for his first breath of fresh air. There was a dam inside of him, trembling feebly against the flood of passion he'd been quelling for so long. Struggling to catch his breath, he prayed for strength. Whether to reinforce it or to tear it down completely, he himself didn't know.


	5. penance 2-02

Tonks twined both arms around Remus' shoulders and kept him tightly in place as her head fell back and she drew in a shuddering breath.

 

 _He loves you_ , her heart rejoiced. _He loves you, you knew it all along, he loves you_.

 

His breath was warm on her neck, his chin prickly with stubble where it chafed against her throat, she could feel the thrum of his heart racing against her own. Blinking hard into the blank emptiness that was everything else, she dug her fingers into his shoulder blades, convincing herself this was real. This was happening. She was not going to wake up any second now in her dismal room in Hogsmeade, cold and afraid and not knowing.

 

He was alive. He was here. He loved her. _He did - he does, it must be!_ It was real.

 

Every nerve in her body was set ablaze as his fingers splayed the width of her back, slipping under her clothes then back out again. She pressed her face to the top of his head, her fingers twisting in his hair, as he kissed softly along the bare expanse of her clavicle. Small, wet, open-mouthed kisses. He sucked lightly at a spot where her neck and shoulder met and she shuddered in bliss, her muscles tensing in an attempt to bring him even closer, her hips rolling lightly against him again. He thrust into her in response and she inhaled sharply at the rigidity of him, at the surge of pleasure rippling through her in delightful anticipation. Their hips moved together the next time, slowly, deliberately, as his tongue darted out and traced an upward path across her neck then resumed his kissing along the line of her jaw. She was forgetting how to breathe, her chest felt as if it would explode, her heart was beating so frantically, painfully fast. Her blouse had ridden up and his hands were in full contact with her skin now, stroking gently, but confidently, up and down her spine. She dragged her nails down his scalp and he let out a low, throaty growl that tickled her ear, which she reciprocated with a series of breathy moans against his forehead.

 

Then, all of a sudden, it was as if someone had doused them with ice cold water. He stiffened in her arms, peeled his lips from her skin and released her, supporting himself at either side of her on the kitchen top. She went slack against him, confused. He was breathing heavily and his head was hung low.

 

"I'm sorry," he muttered, not looking at her. "I should've never... I'm sorry."

 

He stumbled a few steps backwards, out of her reach, and dragged both hands through his mussed hair, then down his face. When his eyes finally met hers, they were rooted with such deep anguish, it stung her even worse than his withdrawal. She slipped down from the kitchen element gingerly, still trembling with the sensations his touch elicited in her only moments ago, and resisted the urge to hug her arms to herself.

 

"Don't be,” she forced steadiness in her voice. “I'm not."

 

His eyes roamed over her, his mind a tumult of desire championing against rationality - her hair undone where his hands have tousled it, her lips slightly swollen, parted and beckoning for his to take residence upon them again. Colour returned to her face and for a moment, there were twinkling fairy lights in her eyes again. He took half a step towards her, his hand poised to press against the softness of her skin again, but then changed his mind at the last moment. Averting his gaze instead, he adjusted the blouse that had slipped down her shoulder.

 

"You will. Trust me."

 

Tonks huffed a mirthless laugh, closed her eyes, smoothed her hair back from her face with trembling hands. When she looked at him again, her eyes were clear, sober, and she spoke with unexpected coldness.

 

"Do you have any idea how patronising that sounds?!" Teeth gritting, she fought back an instinct to cause the same kind of pain he was making her feel now. "I would never regret you."

 

"How could you not!?" He croaked in anguish, dragging his hands across his face again. "I'm--- I'm---"

 

"A preposterous bastard, if you think you can come here and snog the living daylights out of me, then shake me off the next second---"

 

"I'm a werewolf!" he cut across her, as if that explained everything.

 

 _Of course_ , that was always the biggest issue. That damned inferiority complex. No matter what she said or did or how hard she tried to prove his own worth to him. Which was not entirely his fault, she knew, he’d been shunned and mistreated for too long. Yet, this maddening contradiction in his treatment of her channeled all the heartache she felt into fury. Her voice dropped into a low, threatening pitch.

 

"Yeah, I'm aware. But the werewolf is not the one being the sanctimonious prick here."

 

Taking a deep breath, Remus willed himself to calm down. The adrenaline was still coursing through him and he was tempted to expel in frustrated words what he poured into passionate touch earlier.

 

"Do you have any idea...?” His voice shook, gruffer than usual. “If any of the werewolves from the colony ever found out about you---"

 

“Found out what?” she challenged, purposefully, eyes flashing.

 

“That I have any contact with the wizarding society,” he amended, looking everywhere and nowhere at once, a pained expression twisting his features.

 

“Yet, you’ve no problem accepting Molly’s dinner invitations every chance you get.”

 

“That’s different.”

 

“Really!? How so?”

 

She was looking at him with those bottomless eyes and he didn’t know how to go on. Neither with her, even less without her. He wanted nothing more than to love and protect her, but protecting her meant he could not love her, and it tore him apart because he didn't know how to reconcile this horrible discrepancy. He pressed his lips tightly together, squeezed his jaw until he could feel his facial muscles pulsing from the strain. She was breathing very deeply and very slowly through her nose, and he knew she was counting her breaths in order to keep herself under control, like she sometimes did while maintaining particularly demanding morphs. He counted along with her.

 

“Why don’t you come back from there,” she managed finally, her voice soft this time over, placating. Pleading. “You’re an intelligent man, you must see how pointless---“

 

“Dumbledore believes---”

 

“Dumbledore is not a God, Remus,” she cried, choked with anguish. “He may be the greatest wizard of our age, but he makes mistakes just like the rest of us! I’m sure there are other ways to monitor Greyback’s activity and I’m sure Dumbledore would consider a good alternative---“

 

“All of which would waste valuable resource, whereas I ---“

 

“Whereas you are more valuable to me than anyone else!”

 

 _There she goes. She's said it_.

 

He looked at her in bewilderment, as if he was suddenly seeing her for the first time. There was no hoping against hope anymore that she was less serious, or less ardent, in his feelings towards him. No hope to spare her. His heart seemed to stop for a moment, then sped up at an unnatural pace. Fists clenched at her sides, her chin defiantly up, she was unyielding and unafraid in her admission, even if it meant her complete and utter defeat. His own hands curled into his sleeves to stop himself from reaching for her.

 

“I shouldn’t be,” he whispered, heavily, desolately.

 

“Well, you are,” she hissed, with as much bravado as she could muster. “It’s not really something I get to consciously choose.”

 

She paced away from him and wound her hands into her hair, trying to compose herself again by counting her breaths. It didn’t look to be very effective.

 

"I didn't come here to argue," he tried, gently, to pacify her.

 

"Than what did you come for?" Straightening up and folding her arms across her chest, she faced him again. She never had an issue with confrontations and he both admired and resented her for that.

"You don't get to just gallivant in here and sate your appetite for companionship or... or whatever the fuck this is," furiously, she gesticulated between them. "Then - what? Leave again when you've had enough? Have me on standby for however many more months without a word? I don't need that. I don't want you like that."

 

Her eyes were like two slabs of granite, glossed to perfection with tears she held admirably in check. Remus was painfully aware the words he spoke next could determine once and for all between her holding on or letting go. He could end it all here. If he really made an effort, he could even make her hate him in less than three sentences. He knew her well enough, knew exactly which insecurities to exploit in order to achieve that. She could go on living her life, push him from her mind like an unpleasant memory she'll store somewhere with other horrors of war, and he'll at least have tonight - that kiss, this look in her eyes and the firm knowledge that for a little while, the impossible was within his reach. A memory to hold on to during cold, desperate nights.

 

He knew he should put a stop to this agony once and for all, but no such words left his mouth. His resolve was waning and waxing at intervals, like the moon he dreaded so much.

 

"You don't want me. There, you said it," he rasped instead.

 

"Out of everything I said, _that_ is what you latch on to?” She laughed, mockingly, high-pitched and slightly hysterical. A horrifying sound that didn't suit her at all. “How typical of you to find an excuse---"

 

"Don't--- Don't put words into my mouth!” he snapped.

 

"Then don't twist mine out of context!"

 

He turned and walked the length of her flat, then back, pulling at his hair. He tried to rationalize with himself. He needed rationality. Cool logic. He used to be good at that and he couldn't understand where it all went now, how it could allow to get squeezed out of him by emotion, no matter how powerful.

 

"You're right, I'm a preposterous bastard,” he finally spoke. Evenly, matter-of-factly. Tonks shuddered at the leveled, logical shift in his tone. She hated it. Everything always fell apart when that tone took over. “I should have never come. It was against my better judgement---”

 

“Why then!? Why did you come?”

 

He kept his gaze glued to the floor, not knowing if it was her scorn or her tears he feared seeing more.

 

“I couldn’t stay away,” he admitted.

 

Oh, that’s right. He loves her. She’d ascertained that. Suddenly, she never wished more for it to have been a misjudgement after all. She could have laughed at the irony. If she didn't feel like crying quite this much.

 

"That's not fair," she admonished in a small voice.

 

It wasn't. All the self-loathing he already felt intensified tenfold. There was no absolution for him anymore.

 

It seemed as if an eternity had passed before either of them moved. Swallowing tightly, she summoned the courage for one more round, and reached to caress his cheek. His hand pressed over hers, but he didn’t pull away from her touch.

 

"I can accept we can't be together - properly together - at this time," she whispered in submission, her pulse fluttering madly where her hand cupped his face. He curled towards her, intimately, and softly kissed the pads of her fingers where they brushed against his lips. Emboldened, she leaned her forehead against his chin.

 

"I don't approve of... of you being underground. But I can try to accept it, it's your--- it has to be your decision after all, and I can keep my distance - but it will have to be over one day, and then---"

 

"Dora," he murmured against her touch, a vow and an apology in one. A declaration of love and a rejection in a single breath.

 

She stiffened against him, and took a step back, her hands pressing against his chest like a wall. "One day, this mission will be over, and you will come back. Won't you?"

 

His hands touched her forearms lightly. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

 

"I'll wait for you," she continued levelly, though the flush that spilled from her cheeks down the neckline of her blouse belied the appearance of composure. "If you can just promise me you'll come back. If you can give me that to hold on to, and do your best to keep safe out there, I can... I will wait, for as long as it takes." Her expression was a power struggle for control, before she added tightly. "No questions asked."

 

Overwhelmed by the level of trust her words implied, the offering she was making and what it must have cost her to say it, his hands grasped hers. His heart was beating a frantic rhythm underneath their palms. Then, he dropped them listlessly at his sides. His silence was deafening.

 

She nodded sharply in understanding and stepped away.

 

"Do you think I’m like this just because you rejected me?” her voice was suddenly like whip crack. “It's the _not knowing_ , Remus! I can handle the waiting, I can even deal with your neuroses and the emotional cowardice, but to be completely shut out of your life, like I never even existed... I don't deserve that! D'you know---" winded, she heaved, out of breath. "D'you know that every night I go to sleep praying that you survive the night and every morning I wake up not knowing whether you have. _That_ is what's tearing me apart!"

 

She broke on that last syllable and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, attempting to steel himself against it, but in vain. He pressed both hands to his face, as if it would block the temptation he was so willing to succumb to.

 

“You see,” his voice was strained, the heels of his hands still firmly against his eyes. “I can bring you nothing but pain!”

 

“Yes,” she sneered, all semblance of control gone, suddenly trembling with rage. “Is it because this war, like everything else, is somehow universally your fault? Because there is absolutely nothing you can do to change how your life goes? Oh _yes_ , poor Remus, always the puppet of his own miserable destiny.”

 

He stared at her in shock. He had never heard her lash out so viciously before. There was no control in her voice or expression anymore, she had lost it all, and the fierceness she exhibited thus far turned transparent, uncovering the frailty underneath. She seemed stunned by her own words as well.

 

And suddenly, all that was left from that wonderful friendship they both cherished so much, were two thoroughly broken people, who somehow didn’t know how to stop hurting each other anymore.

 

He leaned heavily on the kitchen top and she was by his side in an instant, squeezing his arm tightly and burying her face into his shoulder, sobbing out apologies. He pressed his lips to the crown of her head in a lingering, devoted kiss.

 

"I wish... I would give anything..." His throat felt tighter than ever, his voice even more hoarse than usual. "I've never wished more to change what I am."

 

"I never wanted you to change,” burning, traitorous tears finally spilled over, and she hid her flushed face, muffling her words into his sleeve. “I wanted you, _just you_. And it breaks my heart, more than anything else, that you can't see that."

 

"That’s just the thing,” he wrapped his hand around hers, prying her fingers gently away. “You’ve convinced yourself you've seen the worst of me and you may think... believe even, that you can love me in spite of it, but you've never lived how I've lived. You can never fully understand---"

 

"Then _help me_ understand!" she grabbed at his cheeks and made him look at her. " _Show me_ what it's like! You have to let _me_ be the judge of that!"

 

Before he could stop himself, he pulled her swiftly in his arms, very tightly, his eyes of a man burning alive. Her arms locked desperately around his middle, and while holding her like this, he had never felt more free.

 

"If I did, it would already be too late,” he croaked. “I can't --- I refuse to do that to you.”

 

Grasping her shoulders, he pushed her firmly away.

 

"There'd be no going back. Your life... you'd have no choice."

 

"You make it sound as if I have a choice now," she deflated, letting him impose distance between them again. "While you've made all decisions about us instead of me already."

 

"There is no us," he turned away, words tumbling from his lips heavily.

 

She finally caved, exhausted.

 

"I think it's best you leave now," hugging her arms tightly to her chest, she announced in a shaky whisper. “Please.”

 

He hung his head and complied without another word. As if this was what he was waiting for her to say from the moment he stepped over the threshold.

 

The front door of her flat clicked shut behind him as his words reverberated through her mind. _You don't understand_ , he had said. _You could never understand_. Not for the first time, she wished she could just give up. So many people gave up when things grew too difficult or too complicated, so many people took the easy way out. She could be one of those people. If nothing else, no one could blame her for lack of trying.

 

Quietly, she pulled herself up to sit on the kitchen top and leaned her head on the windowpane.

 

She watched him walk out of the building a moment later, start down the street, then slow down, turn and stop next to the streetlamp just opposite her window. The yellow light bathed him in an eerie glow, shadows played across the angles of his face as he tilted his head upwards, his chest heaving a sigh and she couldn't have imagined his body trembling as he slumped against the lamp pole. Their eyes nearly met, but in the darkness, they were just dead objects. Invisible, reaching, but never touching in the bitterness of the night.

 

She sat like that for a long time, until finally, below her, Remus straightened, shook himself as if recovering from a spell, then drew his worn overcoat tighter around his thin body and shambled slowly away. It was only after he disappeared around the corner that she untangled herself from her perch and made her way into the bedroom. Tomorrow, she would have to write to Molly and decline her invitation to join them for Christmas. If these few days were the only peace of mind Remus will have away from the underground until Merlin knows when, then this is what he should have. This is something she could give to him. This is why she can stay away. Just as his inability to do so had, as heartbreaking as it was, given her hope and courage she needed not to give up on him. Not that there was ever any danger of that. Not really.  
Hopefully, her absence will give him some reprieve of whatever demons bred in his mind. For that, she would gladly forfeit the battle. For now, at least.

 

_Perhaps sacrificing your own need truly is the ultimate act of love._

 

It was her final thought as she huddled under the covers and her merciful mind finally switched off in exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **End of part 2.**


End file.
